


A (Dark) Matter of Mutual Concern

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gen, Minor Maria Hill/Sam Wilson, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Non-Graphic Violence, Outer Space, Robot Feels, deep space horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-06 03:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Unmoored in space, princes Thor and Loki send a distress signal to Earth, unaware that the artifact they've stolen is not just a danger to them, but to the entire universe.* * *(Tags, etc. will be updated as the story progresses.)





	1. Chapter 1

The Nótt rocketed off the planet’s dusty, cratered surface in a desperate bid to breach the atmosphere and vanish into space before being spotted.  
  
_ No such luck, _ Prince Loki brooded as he braced himself above the rear-display screen set into the vessel’s console, counting a total of seven single-pilot spacecraft in hot pursuit. The hulls were as worn and pitted as the face of the planet they came from, and they flew recklessly, showing no concern for possibly colliding with their fellows as long as one of them overtook the Nótt.  
  
Hanging his head, Loki muttered, “This was a terrible idea.”  
  
“So you’ve said,” came Prince Thor’s low timbre to his left. Loki’s older brother had both hands on the navigational controls, squeezing the life out of the levers with an expression of grim determination on his face.  
  
The Nótt shuddered violently as the smaller crafts began to draw level with the propulsion jets. The princes each dragged in a breath. Their ship - thoroughly Asgardian in manufacture and design - was built for scouting and stealth, not speed; the hull was covered in reflective plating for camouflage purposes, and Thor was currently pushing her endurance to the absolute limits.  
  
Loki’s hands curled into white fists. “They’re getting closer,” he warned, glancing at his brother.  
  
“I am aware,” Thor replied tersely, focusing ahead. A cluster of asteroids were listing into their flight path. Thor’s jaw tightened. That could be the key to their escape and, hopefully, the annihilation of the small fleet chasing them.  _ May fortune favor us, _ he prayed,  _ may our enemies perish, and may Loki refrain from speaking again. _  
  
Suddenly they were both yanked clear off their feet. The Nótt veered a hard left and tipped precariously on its delicate axis, triggering the emergency siren that blared throughout the vessel’s low-ceilinged cabin. A banded chest skidded across the floor with them. Thor grabbed one of its thick iron handles before it met the wall, and puffed a sigh of relief.  
  
Grunting irritably, Loki hauled himself back to the console and peered at a seperate screen. _ HULL DAMAGED, _ read the blinking text.  
  
“And they’ve got cannons,” he added in a flat tone.  
  
“Enough!” Thor climbed back to his feet, shoved the chest into Loki’s arms, and seized the navigational controls again, booming a command in the Old language to seal the cabin. The siren quit its urgent wailing, but a black veil of dread had fallen over them both. That veil would surely become a shroud if Thor didn’t act fast. Teeth gritting, he steered and propelled the Nótt directly toward the asteroid field.  
  
Loki’s bewildered gaze sprang between his brother and the disaster that lay ahead. “You can’t be serious…”  
  
“There is no other way,” Thor countered, leaning so hard into the controls Loki was convinced they’d snap cleanly in half. “Secure that,” Thor nodded at the chest, “and yourself while you’re at it.”  
  
But there was no time. An enemy craft budged the Nótt, causing it to spin several sickening times. Thor remained rooted to his spot at the console. Loki didn’t fare nearly so well; he found himself wedged beneath a seat with his knees jammed up by his ears. When they finally slowed to a stop, they were turned completely around to face their pursuers.  
  
The seven pilots were more alien than humanoid, with broad faces and the keen yellow eyes of a predator. They appeared to be gibbering excitedly, convinced that they now had the princes firmly in their claws and could expect an easy surrender.  
  
Incensed by their presumption, Thor plowed past them, hooked a turn back into the Nótt’s original direction, and sped once more toward the field.  
  
“Stay there,” he growled at Loki, who had begun to untangle himself. For once, Loki listened.  
  
Blood pounded like a fist in Thor’s head. They would be lucky to squeeze between the asteroids without further damage to the hull. Sweat darkened his hairline and ran cold down the back of his neck. He was responsible for his brother, if not the chest they had absconded with, and it was all up to him to see that both were delivered safely to Asgard. He shut his eyes long enough to recite another silent prayer for their protection, and then the Nótt shot forward.  
  
The vessel was battered pitilessly on all sides, but Thor stood resolute, jerking the controls this way and that while ignoring his brother’s groaned pleas for mercy for his poor face mashed against the underside of the chair.  
  
The rear-display screen showed him that the fleet on their tail had either piss-poor steering or blind idiots at the helms: two bounced unceremoniously off of separate asteroids and crashed into each other, erupting in a mess of glittering glass and accordioned framework; another tried swooping beneath a descending rock and got crushed for his trouble; and one gave up on the chase entirely before they even entered the field. That left three still in pursuit of the Nótt when it broke free on the opposite side of the cluster.  
  
Loki finally rolled out from under the seat and into a kneel, his back stooped and one hand clamped on the chest’s lid. “This is madness, Thor! The ship is going to come apart at any moment, meaning we will _ die _ and our bounty will be lost.” He slowly rose upright, sneering, “You’ve had your fun dangling the carrot. But if we’re really going to slip them, now is the time to do it.”  
  
Thor gripped the navigational controls until they creaked and then, with an air of reluctance, released his stranglehold on them. “Perhaps you’re right.” Before Loki could cut in with another smug remark, Thor inquired in the Old language about the state of the Nótt’s only escape pod. The computer system assured him, in its glissando of blips, that it was still intact. He pivoted to find Loki already hurrying toward the back bay with the chest under his arm. Thor engaged the autopilot, then paced after his brother to slide into the pod and draw the hatch shut behind them.  
  
“I hope this little venture of ours will be worth it,” Loki groused as he buckled himself into a harness. The Nótt shuddered violently under a second attack wave.  
  
Thor uttered one last instruction to the computer to bolt the hatch and remove the clamps anchoring the pod to the Nótt, then cast a weighty look at his brother as he sank back into his seat, suddenly tired. “So do I.”  
  
The detached pod bobbed uncertainly for a moment, temporarily caught in the Nótt’s shimmering, magnetized shield, until its boosters rumbled to life. The princes streamed unnoticed past the enemy craft firing ruthlessly at the Nótt, believing them to still be onboard, and sailed into the vast darkness of space, more wary than ever of the strange chest in their custody.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sir?” Steve Rogers filled Nick Fury’s doorway, standing at ease. “Commander Hill said you wanted to see me.”  
  
Fury nodded and beckoned him closer. Spread across his desk were several file tablets, which he took his time stacking while Steve made himself as comfortable as possible in the opposite chair. No matter how old he got, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being called to the principal’s office.  
  
“An opportunity has presented itself, Captain, to,” Fury made a grasping gesture, “establish rapport with Asgard. Heard of it?”  
  
“Yes, sir. It’s a sovereignty that encompasses nine planets which they believe are connected by a mythical tree called Yggdrasil. Their culture is what we’d consider medieval - feasting or fighting at the slightest nudge - but they’re also technologically and medically hyper-advanced; they were enjoying light-speed travel while most of humanity was still living in caves.” Fury reclined in his seat with a small smile. Steve smiled back. “I took a course once. Guess it stuck.”  
  
“Which is why I believe you’re the right person to lead this mission,” Fury said, standing over his desk. Tracing a pattern over the pressure sensors, a pair of royal portraits materialized in the glass. Steve leaned forward to study them as Fury explained. “Princes Thor and Loki, sons of Odin, king of Asgard. Someone within the palace who doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘discretion’ let it slip that they’ve been missing for several days. Normally, this isn’t out of the ordinary. Thor has a reputation for looking for trouble, dragging his brother along for the ride, and letting dear old Dad clean up his messes. But…”  
  
Steve glanced up with a cocked eyebrow. “But?”  
  
“This time it seems the boys have really stepped in it.” Fury swiped away the portraits and a star map took their place. He noted Steve’s frown and shook his head in confirmation. “It’s not their system. It’s nowhere near their system. And it’s where a distress signal of Asgardian origins is coming from.”  
  
Rubbing his jaw, Steve assessed the map a moment and realized with a jolt that he’d seen it before. It was a lawless hub of piracy, trafficking, and murder; and it was where Bucky Barnes, his best friend, had disappeared years ago. His stomach shrank to the size of a walnut.  
  
Struggling, he said, “It’s not exactly next door to us, either, if a rescue is what you had in mind.” Fury smiled again, tightly, and Steve grimaced. “Wherever they were going, for whatever reason, they ran into bigger trouble than someone like Thor could handle. So with all due respect, Director, I think Asgard should send _their_ people to--”  
  
“Asgard’s been in touch, Captain.” Fury paused for a beat. “They heard about your exploits in the war and they want you.”  
  
Anger lit up like a flame in the back of Steve’s brain, and he leveled an accusing stare at Fury. “You told them, you mean.”  
  
“Sam Wilson’s already volunteered,” Fury continued blithely. “He was here this morning. Figured I’d be tapping you for the job and signed on to make sure you - and I quote - ‘don’t die and force me to socialize with the grunts.’”  
  
Steve chuckled wryly. _Thanks for the vote of confidence, pal._ Before he could respond, Fury pushed the stack of tablets toward him, knowing he wouldn’t refuse now that Sam was determined to go.  
  
“I’ve already cleared you to take a family van” - quaint SHIELD jargon for a roomy Earth-Space Vehicle - “so all that’s left is for you to pick the rest of your crew from this list of potentials. Mostly familiar faces.”  
  
“Yeah. Not so much friendly ones,” Steve remarked as he skimmed the file on _Stark, Anthony E._ Only then did Fury appear to notice his solemn expression and general air of misery.  
  
Stepping out from behind his desk, he laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder and gave it a paternal squeeze. “I appreciate how difficult this is for you, Captain. But you won’t be alone.”  
  
Steve chuckled again, rose to his feet with the tablets in one hand, and gave a salute with the other. His smile barely reached his eyes. “Bucky might be gone, sir, but he’s never left me.”

* * *

On launch day, the hangar was bustling; the family van had been towed out to the middle of the floor for one last round of inspections and maintenance by at least a dozen mechanics. It was a large vessel with dark gray plating that bulked in the middle, like a cargo ship, where they’d stow the princes’ escape pod. Sam was the first one on the scene, flirting with Maria Hill, by the time Steve arrived. He clapped his friend on the back, in better spirits since his briefing with Fury.  
  
“Is this one giving you trouble, Commander?” Steve asked with mock-seriousness.  
  
“Not yet,” Hill replied, feigning a peek at her watch. “But takeoff isn’t for another few hours and he hasn’t made good on his promise to bring me coffee.”  
  
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” Sam swung his duffel onto a big luggage cart and hastened toward the break room. With a parting nod at Hill, Steve followed suit.  
  
The room was a utilitarian space with nicotine-yellow surfaces, and a snug fit for them both. Steve was careful not to bump anything to the floor with his elbows while Sam cursed softly at the fussy coffee maker.  
  
After a pause, Steve began, “Fury told me you--”  
  
“Thought he might,” Sam cut in, annoyed. “For one of the greatest living spies, the man can’t keep his damn mouth shut when courtesy calls for it.” He crossed his arms and turned to face Steve with a guarded look. “Did he tell you why?”  
  
Steve leaned against the counter and nodded. “Although my gut tells me that’s not the truth.” He smirked. “Not the whole truth, anyway. The grunts aren’t so bad, you know.”  
  
A wan smile tugged at Sam’s mouth. “Let’s hope I don’t have to find out.” He then gave a small cheer when the coffee maker splashed something into Hill’s mug. But it looked dark and sludgy, and smelled like singed hair. With a defeated sigh, Sam poured it down the sink. “Not hiding a French press on you, are you?”  
  
Steve snorted, then made a show of patting himself down. “Sorry. Must’ve left it behind with your other excuses not to ask her out.” He ducked just in time to miss a roll of paper towels being flung at his head.

* * *

Returning to the hangar after a detour to the cafeteria, they found the rest of their crew had shown up while they were gone. Sam walked ahead to present Hill with a dark roast that sent her into a rhapsody upon the first sip. Steve, meanwhile, hung back to observe his team.  
  
Stark, the ship’s engineer, and his alarmingly young-looking assistant, Peter, were huddled together over a schematic of the ESV’s engine system. They shared a long work bench with Dr. Banner, the medical officer, who checked and rechecked his supply sheet against his physical inventory, and occasionally exchanged words with Stark above Peter’s head. They seemed to acknowledge each other as kindred geniuses, and Steve felt a strange relief.  
  
Barton and Romanoff, who made up the sum total of the security detail, sat near the ship’s loading ramp, flipping open various weapons cases and debating intensely over what to take aboard for their cache. Almost comically, Romanoff showed her partner knife after knife that steadily increased in length until Barton finally signaled _okay_ at an 8-inch serrated blade of highly polished steel. She radiated pleasure as she clipped its sheath to her belt.  
  
Steve approached them with a healthy mixture of curiosity and caution. “Mind telling me what you plan on doing with that?”  
  
Romanoff winked at him. “Carving the Christmas turkey.”  
  
Somehow, through the din of whirring drills, banging hammers, and echoing chatter, Stark heard her and barked a laugh, looking squarely at Steve with a huge grin. Peter reflexively mirrored his grin while Dr. Banner did a poor job of pretending not to watch from behind his clipboard.  
  
Steve smothered the urge to roll his eyes. Evidently, they were unaware of his history with Romanoff. She caught him musing and gave him the faintest of smiles. “Regulations,” he sighed, holding out his hand. “Eight inches is gratuitous. Especially for you, Natasha; I know you only need four to kill a man.”  
  
Her smile grew to show teeth, and she readily gave up her knife. “Two-and-a-quarter if I’ve had my Wheaties.”  
  
There was some furtive whispering by Peter, followed immediately by shushes from Stark, then they were all absorbed in their tasks again, more seriously than before. Steve passed the knife to Hill as she and Sam came to stand beside him.  
  
“They’re a rowdy bunch,” Hill said, then pulled the knife partially out of its sheath with an impressed _ooh._  
  
“They are,” Steve agreed, bouncing once on the balls of his feet. Memories of his time with Bucky and the Howling Commandos came rushing and filled him with a verve he’d almost forgotten he had. “They really are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see how far I can take this baby writing by the seat of my pants.
> 
> Big thanks to C.S. for being my beta reader and consultant in all things science-fiction-y.
> 
> And don't let the jokey title fool you; when I say "deep space horror," I mean it. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
